


Lima Haunting

by flinchflower, nubianamy



Series: The Donutverse [8]
Category: Glee, Supernatural
Genre: Bondage, Crossover, Dom/sub Undertones, Donutverse, Haunting, M/M, Multi, Supernatural Elements
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-03-13
Updated: 2016-12-06
Packaged: 2018-05-26 10:03:07
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 7,094
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6234316
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/flinchflower/pseuds/flinchflower, https://archiveofourown.org/users/nubianamy/pseuds/nubianamy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When the Impala breaks down in Lima, Ohio, the Winchester boys get some help from Burt Hummel. They didn't expect to be offering the boys some help in return.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This story introduces the friendship between Dean/Sam and Burt Hummel and his family. We started writing it while I was writing Waking Dreams, but never finished it. It presupposes a D/s relationship between Dean/Sam and a budding one for Finn/Kurt/Puck, and is set at the end of Waking Dreams, during the week when Mr. Schue is gone to Colorado to visit the mysterious Toby. It also explains some of the more unusual elements of Puck's personality.
> 
> You can see more of Dean/Sam in the Donutverse in the [Donutverse 50 Kinky Ways](http://archiveofourown.org/series/10521) shorts.

_ Fall 2009 _

Finn just wasn’t very good at Spanish.  He tried his best, but his accent sucked, and he could never remember the endings, and he worked hard at memorizing the vocabulary but mostly he felt like he was Speedy Gonzales and faking everything.  His mom could tell.  

“All that construction work in the building,” he protested. “I swear, with all the banging on the pipes, the Spanish room sounds like somebody’s trying to practice their drums inside the walls.”

“You’re going to have to do better than that if you want to pass this semester,” she said, shaking her head.  “You and Puck, you’re both on study duty tonight.  I’ll make dinner.”

Finn blanched.  “Uh... I can study just fine on my own.  Puck can make dinner, right?”

But she wasn’t budging.  She sent them both over to the garage to work in the office while Kurt did the oil changes that Puck usually handled.  “Once you’ve pulled up your Spanish grade, I’ll hand the spatula back over,” she said.  “Until then, you’re staying put.”

* * *

Burt was pleased with Puck’s work at the garage. Since even before he and Kurt had become an item, Puck had committed himself to learning whatever needed to be done in order to perform routine maintenance on the cars that came through Hummel Tires and Lube. He wasn’t going to complain about essentially free labor from both his son and his son’s boyfriend.

Finn, on the other hand, wasn’t looking to follow in either of his boyfriends’ footsteps. Today, at least, Carole had been clear that Finn was to do nothing other than finish his Spanish homework, and Puck was in the doghouse for yet another weekend of avoiding his problem sets in math. 

Burt and Kurt were nearly done with the lineup of cars when Puck suddenly abandoned his notebook and went to the window, pressing up against the glass.

“Dude,” said Puck, leaning out the window. “Burt. Some guys are rolling into the garage.  They look like they might need some help.”  He craned his neck to look more closely.  “And who the fuck is that, pushing the car?  Man.  He’s fine.”

“Language,” Burt said absently, as he hurried out to the front of the lot.  

Kurt made a sound of approval with his mouth, something that sounded like “better abs than Mike Chang,” and he and Finn made a show of moving oh-so-casually out the door to greet the old Chevy Impala as it limped into the workyard of Hummel Tires and Lube.

“Ease off, Sam --” they heard from within the Impala’s dark interior.   


“Dude, Dean, I  _ know _ .”  The man pushing the car grunted, clearly feeling sympathy for the stress he could hear in the other man’s voice.  “Warn me before you hit the parking brake.”

The man called Dean rested his hand on the gearshift as the car’s momentum slowed, grinding to a halt in the driveway.  The sounds it was making clearly spelled a death sentence for the old car’s transmission.  

“It’s just gonna sound a fuck of a lot worse when I slide the shifter into park,” Dean lamented.

He slumped a little, wiping his brow with a handkerchief.  “Okay, it’s not the end of the world,” Puck heard him mutter, as though to reassure himself.  “We’re not stranded on the side of the road.  We’re at --” He looked around himself with dubious eyes. “... a small town garage.  At least it’s clean enough to not be a hack shop.”  As Burt approached, he straightened up.  

Burt wiped his hands on a worn shop rag.  He peered into the open window of the Impala, at the distressed driver within, sparing a glance for the shirtless young man who was panting at the rear of the car, undoubtedly exhausted from pushing nearly two tons of solid 1967 construction.  Puck and Kurt hovered within a few feet from the car. Neither of them was quite leering, but it was a near thing.

He put a cautious hand on the Impala’s door, hand curving around the open window.  “Need some help there?”

“Yeah,” came the groan from within.

“Sounds like you know what’s wrong,” Burt said, listening to the sound of the engine.  “She’s idling evenly enough.”

“Yeah,” came the rather faint reply.  “This an okay spot?  Because she’s dead in the water when I downshift.”

Burt grunted, assessing the angles.  

“Both bays are full,” Kurt said.  “But they’re just oil changes.  They’ll be clearing out soon enough.”

“She’ll be fine right where she is,” surmised Burt.  “If he got her this far, we can push her into the garage once the jobs are finished out.”

“Go ahead, Dad’ll understand.” Dean said, evidently steeling himself.

The guy looked like he was about to cry, had to take a breath before he wrapped a strong hand around the gearshift, squeezing tightly before he tightened the foot on the brake pedal.   Burt watched in sympathy as the young man clenched his eyes shut as he shifted it into park, with a desperately wrenching sound of shearing metal and chaos.  If he wasn’t mistaken, the guy’s eyes were wet with what looked like tears, and he sure as hell had every sympathy for that.  Burt reached in and laid a gentle hand on the guy’s shoulder.

“This won’t be the first rebuild I’ve done, son.  But it’s late. You should come home with us. I just live a couple blocks south of here. We can talk about what’s to be done with your car tomorrow.”  

* * *

“So you’ve come a long way,” Burt said, handing Dean a fresh cup of coffee.  “I’m sorry this had to be your introduction to our little town, but you’ve got nothing to worry about.  We’ll take good care of you, and the Impala too.”

“That’s quite a car,” Puck said with barely disguised enthusiasm, sitting close to Dean at the dining room table.  “She’s a custom rebuild?” 

“Hell no,” Dean replied.  “Original, aside from anything that’s had to be replaced.  My dad bought her new in ‘68.”

“Your dad must care a lot about you to let you drive a car like that,” Kurt said, crossing his legs at the ankle and eyeballing Burt.  “I only got a Navigator for my sixteenth birthday.”

Puck snorted.  “Mechanic’s kid and a refurbished repo -- sounds pretty sweet to me.”

Finn laid a firm hand on Puck’s shoulder, and Puck colored and directed his gaze at his shoes.  

Dean laughed.  “Well, I didn’t exactly get a car of my own, but he gave me a set of keys to her when I got my driver’s license.  Sammy here had to wait,” he said, earning himself an eyeroll from his younger brother.  “Never wanted to drive anything else.”

“I was driving my truck before it was legal, when my Ma needed me to,” said Puck. “She works nights, sometimes I had to pick her up if she was too tired to drive home from the hospital on her own.”

“We do what we need to. That didn’t sound good, when you put it into park,” Burt suggested, putting the focus back onto the problem at hand.  

Finn nodded. “What do you think is wrong?  I don’t know anything about cars.”

A chorus of groans went up around him.     


Burt shook his head.  “Transmission, at minimum,” he said, and caught Dean’s eye.  “Any other history that I should know about?”

It was Sam’s turn to snort.  “Dude, he’s got a notebook detailing everything that was ever done for her. Our dad’s a mechanic.”

“Sam,” Dean said repressively.  “I don’t think there’s anything else involved, sir,” he said to Burt respectfully.  

“Well, we’ll get her up on the lift, drop the pan, and see what we can see.  In the meantime, you’re going to need a place to stay.  This isn’t going to be a one-day fix.”

“Carole would let me make dinner if there were guests, right?” said Puck. “You like ribs?”

Dean almost whimpered.  “Oh yeah,” he said, and Sam grinned, open and friendly.

“You’ve never tasted ribs before, if you haven’t had Puck’s,” Finn assured him.  “Can we have those twice-baked potato thingies?”

“With mushrooms?” added Kurt and Sam at the same time, and they snorted with mutual laughter.  

“No problem,” said Puck, already digging an apron from one of the drawers in the sideboard.  This one read  _ My other apron gets me chicks; this one just protects me from flame. _  “I’ll go see what kind we’ve got in the fridge.”

* * *

Sam couldn’t help but overhear Finn’s reproving tone as he took Kurt’s arm and led him into the family room.  

“You really need to watch your attitude about the car,” he said in a low voice.  “Puck’s not the only one who might feel snarky when they hear you’re driving a Navigator at sixteen.”

“Sorry... sir,” Kurt whispered, biting his lip.  “I’ll remember next time.”

Long practice let Sam keep the eyebrow that would have otherwise raised in its proper place.  He’d mention it to Dean later, if his brother had missed it.

* * *

Finn noticed Sam’s proximity and offered him a smile. “You guys play video games at all?”

“Sure,” Sam said.  “Dean doesn’t get into it much, but I had a PS2 in my dorm room at Stanford.”

“You went to Stanford?” Kurt asked, excitedly.  “What did you study?  I’m hoping to apply there when I’m a senior.”  

“Yup,” Sam replied easily. “Pre-law.”

Sam and Kurt chatted about LSATs and other various alphabet soup tests while Puck sliced leftover morels and shiitake mushrooms for the potatoes. Finn hauled out the old PS2 and found a video game Sam recognized, and proceeded to lose with grace to the blonde man’s superior skill.  

“God, Finn, did you leave your video game talent in your other pants or something?” Kurt said, digging an elbow into his ribs.  Finn easily deflected Kurt’s poke and wrapped a long arm around him, poorly disguised as a brotherly headlock.

“I had no idea I remembered how to play that,” Sam said, shrugging at Finn, casually not paying attention to the two boys doing what looked an awful lot like snuggling on the couch.

Dean snorted. “Just like he has no idea how he remembers to put his socks on in the morning,” he said with a wink at Sam.

Burt leaned over the side of the couch and cleared his throat, looking pointedly at Finn and Kurt, and Kurt quickly removed his head from Finn’s lap. Dean and Sam traded the briefest of glances, and proceeded to not notice either Burt’s correction, or the easily - to the Winchester brothers at least - recognizable familiarity between the boys.  

The front door burst open, bringing with it the sounds of feminine laughter.  “So then I said that there was no way I was ever going to -- oh, hello,” Carole said, taking in the two unfamiliar men on the Hummel’s couch.  She smiled, looking quizzically at Burt.  “I didn’t realize you had guests for dinner.”

“Squirt, is that you?” Puck’s voice floated out from the kitchen.  “I could use a hand with these fucking potatoes.  They’ve got more eyes than Mississippi.”

“Language, Puckerman,” Burt’s stern voice retorted. “That’s twice now.  You really want to go for three?”

“Um,” said Puck, poking his head around the door frame, sheepishly rubbing his neck.  “Not particularly.”  

Sarah emerged from behind Carole, lugging the biggest box of ping-pong balls any of them had ever seen.  “Can I keep these downstairs, Kurt?” she called.  “They’re for my science project.”

Sam hopped up from the couch.  “Let me help you with those,” he said, smiling gallantly.  Carole watched in approval as he helped her carry the enormous box down to the basement.

“Sam and Dean ran into some car trouble,” Burt said.  “They’re going to have to be in town a while.  We just fell into talking.  Looks like we’ll have a full house for dinner.”

“So what’s this project about?” Sam asked casually as they emerged from the basement, Sarah blushing furiously under Sam’s interested gaze, “There must be a couple hundred ping-pong balls in there.”

Sarah groaned. “Atoms,” she said wearily.  “We’re supposed to demonstrate the structure of different molecules.  I still have to get the paint.  I’m going to make theobromine.  Chocolate,” she clarified, at Burt’s mystified expression.  “And then compare it to other stuff that’s similar.”

Burt and Dean spoke in low tones about the Chilton’s guides, laid out on the coffee table, for the Impala, while Carole and Kurt added both leaves to the dining room table.  

“My dad’s buddy has a garage in Nebraska, he’s probably got any of thde parts she’ll need, if you don’t have a local source,” Dean told the older man, running a distressed hand through his hair.  “We knew it was coming, but it happened a little sooner than any of us figured. Dad’s gonna be pissed.”

“That who usually helps out when she needs repairs,” Burt asked, watching Dean’s pained nod in reply.  “I didn’t ask earlier, how did it go?  You said you knew it was coming.”

“It’s just been  _ hard shifting _ ,” Dean said helplessly, “hasn’t been any better or worse over this last trip than usual, we were talking about maybe popping a lift kit in to see if it would be a good temp fix.  When we stopped at the light out there, she just had nothin’ and I knew...”

Burt shook his head. “Dean, if your dad and his buddy knew about it, and it hasn’t made any changes in how it’s been behaving, how could he possibly be upset with you?  He was okay with you taking the car on the road?”

“Yeah, no problem, she’s been mine ever since he got his truck, he likes that better, though if we all go somewhere together in her, he always drives her.”

“It’ll be fine.  Why don’t you give him a call?”  Burt watched Dean swallow, and observed that Sam had an eye on their conversation, despite being involved in another video game -- one that Sam didn’t seem to know as well, given the snickering that was coming from Finn.   The younger man shifted and his long leg knocked into Dean’s.  

Dean’s attention had shifted back to the the Chilton’s, and his worn composition book.  He absently swatted Sam’s leg.  “Watch it there, Gigantor.”

Burt concealed a smile behind his hand, scratching at his chin.  Sam settled down, with a glance and a smile at Burt. 

“I’ll call him,” Sam offered.  “He’s still mad at me for mouthing off at him after those extra laps.”

“He’s just gonna ask for me, Sam, and I don’t know what’s wrong yet.”

Sam snorted. “Dude.  Hello?  Transmission?  Dad knew about it in the first place?”

Dean fixed the younger man with a stare, and Burt cleared his throat.  “Make the call.  I want any information he or - what’s the friend’s name?” he asked.   

“Singer.  Bobby Singer,” Dean said absently, still frowning at his brother.  

“Singer Salvage.  I know it.  Good source.”

“You know Bobby?”  Dean perked right up, and Burt smiled at him.  

“You call your dad, and maybe let me look her records over if you’re comfortable with that.”

“Sure thing,” Dean said, standing up and fishing his cell out of his pocket.  “Ok if I go outside?  My cell doesn’t register towers inside unless there’s a signal boost.”

“You need a new phone,” Sam said.  “Want to borrow mine?”

“No, Sam, I don’t need dad picking up and thinking I’m you, and being pissed out of the gate.”

Sam rolled his eyes, and shot Burt a smile after Dean made his way out of the room.

“He’ll settle down after dad talks to him, I promise.  He’s really uptight about her.”  

  
It didn’t pass Burt’s notice that despite the veneer of unconcern, Sam referred to the car as a person, just as his brother did.


	2. Chapter 2

After dinner, the Winchester brothers overheard a groan from the family room.  

“That substitute doesn’t have any idea what he’s doing, that’s the problem,” said Finn.  “He might know Spanish, but he’s no Mr. Schue.  Jeez, I can’t wait for his suspension to be over.”

“He’s a hardass sometimes,” Puck said, low enough so Burt wouldn’t hear the swearing, “but he’s a good teacher.  And Rachel is pissing me off in Glee.  I don’t think I’m going to be able to handle her ‘leadership’ much longer.”

“You guys having trouble with your substitute teacher?” Sam said, perching on the edge of the couch.

“You have no idea,” Finn agreed.  “He doesn’t have any control of the class.  I think he’s going to bail and leave us with nobody.”

“That’s something I’ve done on occasion,” Sam mused.  “Maybe I could help out.”

_ “¿Habla usted español?” _ Puck asked, grinning at Sam.  

_ “Sí, hablo español muy bien,” _ Sam responded.  _ “Estudié durante cuatro años en la Universidad y tres años en la escuela secundaria.” _

“Dude, I have no idea what you just said,” Finn said, “but that was definitely better Spanish than our sub can speak.”

“So where did your teacher go?” Sam wanted to know.  “Mr. Schuester, is it?”

“He’s in Denver,” Puck said, visiting a... friend.”  Finn shot him a puzzled look, but Puck wasn’t elaborating.  “We’ve got sectionals coming up really soon, but he’s not going to be allowed to participate or help us get ready or  _ anything, _ because he messed up and, um, slept on a mattress.”

“Dude,” Finn whispered.  “Did you grab that mattress before the custodians could take it out to the trash?”

“All set, man,” Puck affirmed, and they bumped fists. “You’ll see.  I’ve got it taken care of.”

Sam nodded thoughtfully. “I can make a case for a substitute substitute. You give me the address of your school, and I’ll take care of the rest.”

* * *

Finn and Puck’s principal was just as strange a character as the boys had suggested, but Sam knew how to deal with characters. He introduced himself as “Mr. Remington” and explained the situation as calmly and reasonably as he could.

“Mr. Hummel suggested it, sir.  I hold masters credentials, but not doctoral credentials.   I’d be glad of the work, Mr. Figgins.   And I’ve been trying to help young Mr. Hudson with his homework for the last week or so, so I have a good idea of where the class is at.”

Figgins nodded, frowning. “And this is at an inferior level to your own knowledge?”

“Oh yes, sir,” Sam said, nodding earnestly.   “I was doing my pre-law classes bilingually, I had thought about a multilingual law practice in California.  I’d be a law student there right now, but some family issues have delayed my timeline. I do have a masters degree, though, and I thought I remembered that’s what you need?  From my classes?”

Figgins steepled his fingers in front of his space.  “It is what I need, you slick young thing.   I cannot hire someone to let one student pass.”

Sam blinked, clearly bewildered by the statement, and Figgins was oddly reassured by this.

“You can promise me - on contract - that you are not trying to further one student over another?”

“I can promise, sir.  That’s not my intention.  Spanish is such a beautiful language, and…”

Figgins cut him off. “I think I understand, Mr. Remington. I will hire you on probation only.   This does not have all the niceties; you will have to show that this is what you are meant to do.”

Hours later, Sam was shown to a classroom, tattered and dingy, the bulletin boards crumpled and faded.  He swore to himself, stripping all of that down. Spotting the easel and flip chart pad in the corner, he began to work.

Sam lost track of the time entirely, and when he looked up from his efforts, he had a pounding headache.  But the bulletin boards were covered with basic drills, written plainly in black marker on the flip chart pads, and posted up for easy reference.  They didn’t need bullshit, after all, just facts.

He thought he caught motion out of the corner of his eye as he left the school, but dismissed it as an effect of the extreme degree of exhaustion he was feeling.  Sam got in the cab he’d called, ready to take him back to the Hummel household.

The air swirled with unrest on Sam’s departure. Perhaps it recognized something of what Sam carried with him always. Whatever the reason, it wasn’t happy with his presence.

_ You don’t belong here, _ was the impression it left behind.  _ And I’m not going to let you stay. _

* * *

“I can’t believe you managed to get this thing up here without anybody noticing.” Kurt sighed, stretching out on the mattress in the sunny attic room. “This is just what our room needed. I’ll bring an old quilt from home to cover it up.”

“It’s okay. I found a wool blanket in a box on the shelf here.”  Finn smiled. “Yeah, this is kind of asking for trouble, having a  _ bed _ in the storage room we’re supposed to be using for choir music, but... it was too good to pass up.”

Kurt curled up on his side. “God.  I could really use a half hour nap.  That slushie this morning was the last straw.”

Finn stroked Kurt’s hair with one broad hand, and Kurt sighed again, letting his eyes droop closed.  “Go ahead and sleep, baby.  I’ll let Mrs. Greene know you had a stomachache. You can nap through lunch and I’ll bring you something to eat before we have to head out to English.  Sound good?”

“Heavenly,” Kurt murmured, already half-asleep.  “Thank you.”

Finn pulled the worn blue blanket up over Kurt’s shoulder and kissed him gently on the temple before heading back downstairs.  

But Kurt’s sleep was far from restful.  On the contrary, it was fraught with strange dreams, a shadowy form in the corner of the room watching him, spiteful and angry.  

_ Why are you here? _  he heard the form say, and  _ You’re in my way, _ and  _ It’s never going to end. _

When he woke up, he was left with the impression of barely controlled fury and staggering loss. It made him shiver, but he was kind of relieved to leave it behind when he left the attic.

* * *

 


	3. Chapter 3

“I can’t believe you managed to get this thing up here without anybody noticing.” Kurt sighed, stretching out on the mattress in the sunny attic room.  “This is just what our room needed. I’ll bring an old quilt from home to cover it up.”

“It’s okay. I found a wool blanket in a box on the shelf here.”  Finn smiled. “Yeah, this is kind of asking for trouble, having a  _ bed _ in the storage room we’re supposed to be using for choir music, but... it was too good to pass up.”

Kurt curled up on his side. “God.  I could really use a half hour nap.  That slushie this morning was the last straw.”

Finn stroked Kurt’s hair with one broad hand, and Kurt sighed again, letting his eyes droop closed.  “Go ahead and sleep, baby.  I’ll let Mrs. Greene know you had a stomachache. You can nap through lunch and I’ll bring you something to eat before we have to head out to English.  Sound good?”

“Heavenly,” Kurt murmured, already half-asleep.  “Thank you.”

Finn pulled the worn blue blanket up over Kurt’s shoulder and kissed him gently on the temple before heading back downstairs.  

But Kurt’s sleep was far from restful.  On the contrary, it was fraught with strange dreams, a shadowy form in the corner of the room watching him, spiteful and angry.  

_ Why are you here? _  he heard the form say, and  _ You’re in my way, _ and  _ It’s never going to end. _

When he woke up, he was left with the impression of barely controlled fury and staggering loss. It made him shiver, but he was kind of relieved to leave it behind when he left the attic.

* * *

Kurt wasn’t sure how to bring it up with Finn later. It wasn’t like he never had bad dreams, but they were nothing compared to Puck’s, and he mostly forgot them by the time he woke up. It was Finn who recalled his memories in this case, in a very disturbing way, while they were getting ready for bed that night.

“Did  _ Puck  _ spank you?” he blurted, staring at Kurt’s bare back.

Kurt swiveled around, trying to get a look at his own body in the mirror. “What? No! He’s never even -- oh my god.” He stopped, gazing in increasing confusion at the ruddy handprint in the center of his back. “What the hell?”

“That was my question.” Finn reached out and ran gentle fingers over the print, but Kurt couldn’t feel a thing. Finn’s quizzical look grew more thoughtful. “If it’s nothing, I’m not going to worry about it.”

“No, but -- where did it come from?” He tried to reach a hand around from below to touch it himself. “I can’t imagine what might have caused that, other than the obvious, and the only one who’s doing that is  _ you.” _

“I’m pretty sure I haven’t been sleep-spanking you,” Finn said. His joking tone vanished as the blood drained from Kurt’s face. Kurt leaned against the counter, swaying. “What? What is it?”

“It’s -- I had a dream. I don’t know, something...” Kurt shook his head. “I can’t remember the details, but there was something about ropes.” He blushed. “Yes,  _ those _ kind of ropes.”

Finn nodded. “It’s not like you never dream about that stuff?”

“No, no, but this was...” He shivered again. “I don’t think it was nice. Not even a little bit.”

He put an arm around Kurt’s shoulders. “I wish I knew who to ask. It’s not exactly the kind of thing we could ask Dr. Howell to help with.”

“It’s just a dream,” Kurt said. He kissed Finn on the cheek. “I’m sure there’s some logical explanation to all of this.”

* * *

Sam was exhausted. He’d come back to the Hummel house from work every day this week with a splitting headache, feeling like a raw nerve, and he’d gotten himself spanked on a near nightly basis.  Dean was starting to make noises about them not needing the money that badly.  

Sam was in the classroom one evening, changing the vocabulary words out on the bulletin board, when he shivered violently, and nearly went to his knees, nauseated.  He shook his head, trying to clear it, and finally grabbed for his cell phone.

“Dean?  Come get me?”

“Sammy, I’m in the - Sammy?  What’s up?”

He clutched the side of his head. “Migraine.  I think.”

“Shit, you haven’t had one of those for a while.  Let me check with Burt, I’ll be there quick, ok?”

“Thanks,” Sam grunted, and grabbed at his stack of papers on the desk, stuffing them into his messenger bag, and sinking into his chair.  He put his head back, trying to ignore the pain - only to wake, roaring a challenge, and swinging wildly at his brother. 

* * *

Dean ducked the swing. “ _ Sam! _ ”

_ Get out of here! _ came the insistent, furious thought, loud in Dean’s head.  _ You don’t belong here - you can’t have it! _

“The fuck,” Dean muttered. He spotted the glass of water on the desk and tossed it in his brother’s face. Sam sputtered briefly, looking up in shock, and closing his dilated eyes against the light.  “Yeah.  Get a grip, Sammy.  Let’s get you out of here, and flat on a bed.”

“Yeah,” Sam muttered thickly.

Dean was glancing at his brother frequently on the drive back to the house, worried about Sam’s obvious pain, and the sweat he could see beading Sam’s forehead - not usual for a migraine at all.

He muscled Sam into the house, the door opened by Burt, who was obviously concerned enough to leave the garage to the boys and his manager.   He dumped Sam into the bed, appreciative that Burt pulled back the sheets and left the room.  Dean had Sam’s shoes and socks off, and had the giant’s jeans near shucked off, when Burt came back in, with a tall glass of ice water, a bottle of Tylenol, and what looked like a damp washcloth in a bowl.  

“You guys need anything else?” Burt asked quietly.

Dean shook his head, blinking back what felt suspiciously like tears.  “Thanks.” 

He stripped the kid of his hoodie, pants and socks, until he lay in a T-shirt and boxers on the sheets.  He was wary of doing so before Hummel, but he reluctantly took up the washcloth, bathing Sam’s face with it, watching the kid settle down.

Hummel nodded, and went back out, mostly closing the door behind himself.

“The hell did you get into, Sammy,” Dean muttered, cleaning the boy up, watching him rest more and more peacefully.  He hesitated, then went and dug out one of the amulets they usually carried, a protective ward that would carry peace to Sam, and fastened the cord around Sam’s left wrist.

Sam stilled almost immediately, and Dean sighed, dropped the washcloth in the bowl, and left the room, renewing the warding as he left.

Kurt was in the kitchen. Dean glanced at the clock - it was after quitting time, the kid must have been pretty efficient at closing down the shop - then again, there were a bunch of big projects in there, not just a buttload of oil changes.  

“Is Sam okay?” Kurt asked anxiously.

“Migraine,” Dean grunted.  “Looked worse than usual.  You didn’t look so hot either, when you got to the garage.  So ‘fess up now, if something happened at school.”  All of his spider senses were tingling.

Kurt blinked, putting on an innocent mask. “Nothing happened.”

“Bullshit,” Dean hissed.  “Don’t even try that with me, Sam’s been pulling that crap with me longer than you’ve been alive.  Information.  Now.”

Kurt looked close to terrified, but he shook his head insistently. “I don’t -- there’s nothing that would explain what Finn saw on my -- there has to be some explanation.”

“I don’t give a crap about explanations, I want information, Kurt,” Dean said sharply.  “You don’t start out with a jigsaw puzzle complete, do you?  Come on, you tell me, or I’ll get your dad in here to pull it out of you -- between you, and now Sam?  I’m betting this is something that shouldn’t be screwed around with.  So stop with the dancing and tell me plain.”

“It was that girl,” said Puck from the door. The two of them turned to face him. 

“What girl?” Kurt asked warily.

“The one in the attic.” Puck poured himself a glass of water. “She’s not happy with something, ever since we brought the mattress upstairs.”

Kurt looked bewildered. “What are you talking about?”

“Don’t tell me you haven’t seen her? She’s been there since we got there. She likes the table and the singing, and when we -- you know. She thinks that’s hot.” Puck shrugged. “But the mattress, not so much.”

Dean smacked a hand on the table, took a breath to speak, then obviously held himself back, doing his best to repress his temper in front of the kids.  “Puck - how-  Christ almighty.”   _ What the everliving fuck, _ was what he thought to himself, trying not to bite the shit out of the inside of the cheek, because if he started hollering, that would bring Burt in here on the double, and wouldn’t that be a pretty situation.

“I have no idea what he’s talking about,” Kurt promised.

“I do,” Dean said gruffly.  “Seen stuff like that all your life, kid?”  He directed the question at Puck, trying to back off his anger a little, knowing it wouldn’t do any good with this kid.

Puck nodded, eyes wide. “Well... yeah. I figured everybody did.”

Dean shook his head, careful after years of raising Sammy to keep the disgust out of his voice.  “Sorry, kiddo, folks who see that kind of thing are pretty few and far between.  You wanna tell me what else you’ve seen up there, and then help me pry out of Kurt whatever it is he’s hiding?  Or maybe I go looking for Finn, have Finn paddle it out of him.”

Now Kurt spluttered, stepping in close to Puck and putting his arms around him. “You can’t threaten him like that!”

But Puck didn’t seem upset. He looked curiously at Dean. “How’d you know? About what Finn, and the... the paddling?”

Dean snorted.  “Pretty sure you knew about me an’ Sammy.  I ain’t blind, Puck.  I see how the two of your respond to him, and don’t think that I missed you scoot out of the kitchen quick to miss the smack he aimed at your backside, the other day.”

“I don’t  _ scoot,” _ Puck muttered, looking sullen. But Kurt nodded slowly, still keeping a protective hold on Puck’s shoulders. 

“You do that for Sam,” he said.

“Yes.  Get back on the subject, or I’ll hand Finn a paddle myself.”

Kurt made a squeaking sound that wouldn’t have been out of place in the mouth of a mouse, but he went on readily enough. “I came home earlier this week, after I took a nap upstairs in our attic room at school. I had some bad dreams, and Finn found this handprint on my skin. One he hadn’t put there.”

Dean stared for a moment.  “Downstairs.  Both of you.”  He stuck his head into the living room, where Burt sat, looking at a newspaper.  “Sam’s not gonna be able to think in a straight line, I’ll give ‘em a hand with homework and whatnot, keep an eye on Sammy down there.”  Burt didn’t do much more than glance up and smile, nodding.

They went quickly, ushered into Kurt’s room, with the door shut firmly behind them.  Kurt looked close to terrified again, but Puck seemed calmer, more thoughtful. 

“Let me see,” Dean requested, voice even, standing out of arm’s reach.  “Either take your shirt off, or have Puck pull it up, Kurt.  Better yet, take it off.  I’ll be right back.”

When he returned, a small bottle and a clean washcloth in one hand and a small kit in the other hand, Kurt had hung up his shirt and was leaning over the bed while Puck inspected the handprint. It was pink, with raised edges, like the strike of a cane, and didn’t appear to be healing well. Dean shook his head.  

“It hurts a little,” Kurt said hesitantly. “I’m not... I mean, I didn’t really think about it at first, but then Finn noticed it, and --”

“It’s all right, Kurt.  The mark itself isn’t a danger to you, or to anyone else.  But it’s still pretty livid looking.  I need to clean this out, ok?  You trust me to do that for you?”  He was opening the small first aid kid, fishing out saline solution and a tube of antibiotic cream as he spoke.

“Yes sir,” he said. He leaned over the bed, letting Dean have better access. Puck climbed up onto the bed beside him, holding his hand tightly.

Dean smiled.   “Good.  Three runs, over it, you tell me if it starts to really burn, or anything else, Kurt.  Go ahead and ask your questions, before you implode, OK?”

“I don’t even know what to  _ ask.” _ The last word came out like a whine.

“I think I got some answers,” Puck said. “But you might not like some of them so much.” He looked up at Dean for permission.

“Let’s have it, Puck,” Dean said, as he carefully wiped the washcloth, wet with the contents of the little bottle Dean had been holding when he came in.  Kurt hissed and flinched, and Dean paused, waiting for Kurt to speak up if he needed to.  So holy water stung, then.  He’d have to be careful, but cleaning it out was mostly what was needed.

“Well, okay. This girl in the attic, she’s got some kind of history with... the stuff we do. But I get the idea it didn’t end well, for her, you know what I mean?” He rubbed his neck uncomfortably. “I see her with ropes sometimes, and sometimes she’s crying, with that old army blanket wrapped around her. But she didn’t mind it when we showed up, the three of us. It was okay with her that we were there, even if she wasn’t able to leave.”

Dean waited, watching the reddened skin steam a little, and then some of the high color and definition fade a little.   _ Good. _

“And it’s something you’re used to seeing.  Okay.”

“You’re saying there’s a  _ girl _ in the attic?” Kurt said. He shook his head in confusion. “But why can’t she leave?”

“They don’t stick around if their lives are perfect.  No surprises so far. So what’s the thing you were telling me pissed her off?”

“The mattress,” said Puck. “That was earlier this week. Ever since then she’s been more angry, more freaked out. I don’t know why, but... it’s definitely something to do with that.”

Dean pressed the cloth to Kurt’s unmarked skin, and washed it with the saline packet.  Kurt shivered, but the color faded even further.

“Happens with spirits sometimes,” he commented casually.  

“I don’t believe in spirits,” Kurt said flatly.

“Well, they clearly believe in you,” Dean told him, poking at an edge that wasn’t fading, making Kurt wince and swear aloud.  “And I’d watch your mouth, if I were you.”

“She’s been around a long time,” Puck said thoughtfully. “I can tell because of her clothes. Unless she’s got some major retro thing going on, I’d say fifties or earlier.”

Dean nodded.  “That’s usually how we date them.  I’m not so worried about her.  Tell me more about this mattress, I guess, but first - Kurt, that dream.  Spit it out.”

“Well,” said Kurt. He paused, still looking troubled, but at Dean’s emphatic prompt, he went on. “I don’t remember anything about a girl. It was -- a man. An older man, maybe... seventy years old? He was... angry.  _ Really _ angry. Like, mean.” He thought for a moment. “But he wasn’t the only one who was angry.”

“Go on, Kurt.  This looks a lot better already - let me just tape the bandage down, so you don’t get the antibiotic cream all over your shirt.”

Kurt waited until Dean was done, then settled next to Puck, letting Puck pull him close to his side as he struggled to relate his dream. “Somebody was angry at the man. They didn’t want him to be there. He was -- in the way. That’s what they said, that he was in their way.” He looked soberly at Dean. “They said:  _ It’s never going to end.” _

Dean thought for a few moments.  “Where did this mattress come from?”

“From Mattress Land,” said Kurt. “Glee club did a commercial for his store, and he paid us in mattresses. This was one of them.”

“Okay,” Dean said gruffly.  “Here’s the deal.  We’ll figure this out, I promise.  In the meantime, you kids stay off of that mattress, you got it?  I’m betting that I can’t tell you to keep out of the damn room - but at least stay off the mattress.  Kurt, you can peel that gauze off when you shower tonight, let me see then, okay?”

“Okay,” he agreed. He huddled unhappily in Puck’s arms. “I... I don’t like this.”

Dean turned back around, coming straight to the bed, and looking directly, intensely into Kurt’s eyes.  “Neither do I.  You gonna listen, as you’re told, or am I gonna have extra problems to worry about?”

“I’ll listen,” Kurt said quickly. “I don’t think I can handle this on my own.” He looked gratefully at Dean, sighing. “Thank you for your help. Even if I don’t believe it, something’s definitely going on.”

“You’re welcome.  And you don’t need to believe it.  You need to be smart about it, though. This goes in three steps, you hear me?  First, research.  Bookwork, we find out who that girl is and what happened to her.  Two, we find out what calls her up.  Then three, we send her… home,” Dean said, considering the young men sitting in front of him, and the level of their innocence.”

“You really think there was a girl here?” Kurt murmured to Puck, but with one look from Dean, he quieted down and listened.

“Stand up,” Dean offered, “Take a look at your back, in a mirror.”

Kurt blanched. “I’ve already looked,” he muttered.”

“You want to argue this further with me, Kurt?”

“No,” Kurt said insolently. Then he sighed, and added, “No, I don’t. What do we do?”

“Right,” Dean told them, decisively.  “Research.  Puck said fifties.  You look through thirty years of records, town hall, library, newspapers.  Sam and I… dammit.  We’re in a catch-22 here.”

Kurt’s eyes brightened.  “Of course.  You’re here with the car, and you’re stranded, and if you go out looking at this stuff…” He flickered a glance toward the door, as though somebody might walk in at any moment. “Digging into this stuff tends to make people suspicious.”

“Exactly,” Sam drawled from the doorway.

_ “Bed,” _ Dean barked.

“Not until I can sleep and not worry,” Sam retorted.  “You’re seriously going to take that crap from-”

But Dean stood up abruptly, and muscled Sam back in the room, and Kurt’s eyes widened as he heard the unmistakeable sound of a heavy swat from the next room.

Puck grinned at the sight of Sam’s haggard appearance. “You want a glass of water?” he called respectfully after Sam’s disappearing figure.

“Yes,” Dean said sharply, and Puck was up and off the bed so fast that Kurt blinked.

The space of time it took Puck to fill a glass of water and bring it down was quite enough for Dean to process some thinking, even with Kurt glaring at him, making his hand itch.

“Okay,” Dean said.  “You boys-”

“Duuude, we’re not  _ boys _ ,” Puck said, and he observed Dean’s hand twitch, just a little, though the older man’s face didn’t show a thing, nor did his words.

“RIght.  You and Kurt, you can do the background research.  Sam needs to sleep that off, before he’s safe to do anything, and I need to get back to Burt, one way or the other.   Got it?”  He glared at the teenagers.

Puck shrugged and grinned.  “Sure, we can do that.”

“We’ve got it,” Kurt said at the same time. He clasped Puck’s hand and tugged him out of the door before Puck could get them into any more trouble. 


End file.
